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a deal's a deal. | drabble.
(circa 2018 - an introduction of Jameson and Stella.)
New York City: what can he say about it? it's crowded, it's loud - and it's made him two grand richer in only twenty four hours.
Jameson has only been here once before, otherwise trapped on a blondes couch somewhere in Long island. until now, New York held a darkness that he avoided unless it involved his son. there has never been a desire to float in this direction, never been a compulsion to roam the streets until he's wandered into a dive bar in Brooklyn and managed to make friends with the regulars. ( at least until they realize he's left with all of their money. )
"ready ta hand ova' the $250, kid?" taunts an opponent over the pool table, his nod an acknowledgement of the one striped ball remaining opposed to his own four solid's.
he has been swindling the crew of three men for at least thirty minutes. convinced them that he has never played a game in his life, that he tends to have awful and rotten luck - but hey, what are the odds of him winning now?
put a hundred bucks on it, make me richer kid-
two hundred.
two fifty.
deal.
"shoot," Jameson breathes as his lips shift to the side, a quick examination from two different ends of the table. "whadya say 'bout $300 if i make it now?" the men rooting for their companion can't hide their laughter. even say, can ya believe this guy? before the opponent is laughing, too. he agrees, says: "give it yer best shot, bud."
you're gunna wish ya hadn't said that, he thinks as he puts on an expression of doubt. puffs out his cheeks on a breath, even leans unsteadily overly the table to line up the shot.
from a bystanders point of view, he might look awkward - uncoordinated - but Jameson has been planning this move from the start.
it was a mistake, letting him have the first break. this has all been mapped out in his head. a small crowd has formed, a couple of women and their dates. perhaps more regulars who know his opponents, standing behind them with amused grins.
"how 'bout ya buy me a drink, too?" that encourages another round of laughter, as though to say sure kid, and then he's made his move and there is an audible crack! as the cue ball smacks into another, and another, and another, and. . .a final thud! of the fourth solid is potted.
"what!"
"you've gatta be f***in' kiddin' me!"
"you cheated!"
"beginners luck, i guess." Jameson says cooly as he straightens on the opposite end of the table, tosses a swig of his beer back until there is nothing but the droplets of an empty bottle to hit his tongue.
"i ain't givin' him my money!" one of the men says, the others seem to question it as well. Jameson shrugs, swirls around the empty bottle.
"deal's a deal - if it makes ya feel any better, give the drink to. . .her-" he gestures vaguely to a bystander, turquoise hair making her a focal point among the lackluster crowd.
"an' i'll be waitin' on my money."
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